


Hunter to Hunted

by LoveRun



Series: Divergence of Elves [2]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Death, F/M, Forced Pregnancy, M/M, Minor Character Death, Multi, Not Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:00:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26532517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoveRun/pseuds/LoveRun
Summary: Vilgefortz has been hunting Geralt and Ciri. Yennefer and Jaskier decide to return the favour.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: Divergence of Elves [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1929298
Comments: 11
Kudos: 59





	Hunter to Hunted

**Author's Note:**

> the forced impregnation is only mentioned and alluded to, not shown in-text. please see notes at the end for more spoiler-y details.
> 
> massive spoilers for all the books and probably the TV series. you've been warned!
> 
> this is mainly catharsis for myself tbh cos i wasn't happy with how things turned out in the books. you probably don't have to have read the first part of this series but it would help!

Yennefer feels the scratch of paper against her skin where she’s tucked the letter into her bodice. She's jostled by some burly farmer who stinks of sweat on her way to the inn and Confounds him for his rudeness, her lip quirking at his confusion when he suddenly can't see the tavern right in front of him. She doesn't have time to savour it though; she pushes past him and up the stairs.

She pauses outside the door to the room she’s sharing with Jaskier. His voice carries through the wood, recognisably expressive and excitable even from another room. He has company; there’s a quieter, higher-pitched voice answering him every now and again. He probably wants some privacy, Yenn thinks.

Jaskier jumps and spills tea in his lap at the bang when the door bounces against the wall. “Sorry to interrupt,” Yennefer lies as she strides through the door. She stops short when she sees exactly who Jaskier's company is.

"Hi, Yennefer!" Zelda says cheerfully.

Jaskier is still cursing. He sets his cup on the table and produces a handkerchief from his pocket to dab at the silk of his breeches. His cup and saucer are decorated with tiny pink flowers, matching the one in Zelda's hand and the rest of the tea set laid out on the table between them. There are even plates with the same floral motif, sporting a selection of pastries from the town market.

"Jaskier," Yenn leans against the doorframe nonchalantly and summons a fireball to her hand. "Since when do we have tea with Redanian Secret Service members who are actively working against us?"

Jaskier gasps, a hand to his heart. "Zelda's not a Service member! She's my friend! Practically my sister! Aren't you, Zelds?"

"Of course," Zelda takes a sip of tea. "Your sister who works for the Service and is going to find Vilgefortz before you do."

Jaskier throws her an irritated gesture with a flick of his wrist. "Oh, you're no help. We could all get along fine if we tried, but you have to go and say things like that. Just don't come crying to me when Yenn vapourises you."

Zelda raises her eyebrows at Yennefer. "Can you do that?"

Yenn flexes her hands, letting the fireball grow bigger, feeling the diamonds pulsate and sparkle in the obsidian star on the ribbon around her neck. "Good question. Shall we find out the answer together?"

Zelda puts down her cup and stretches nonchalantly. "Maybe some other day. I need to be off. Pleasure seeing you both, as always!" 

She gives Jaskier a quick hug goodbye, grins at Yenn and disappears through the door Yennefer had just left open. Yenn jerks her head and it slams closed.

She lets the fire ball dissipate and folds her arms, foot tapping angrily. "Really, Jaskier?"

Jaskier moves to what passes for a bed in this shitty tavern room, lies down with his hands behind his head and grins up at her. "Y'know, Yenn, that whole 'I've got my arms crossed and my lips pursed and I'm very disappointed in you vibe' doesn't really work on me."

Yennefer narrows her eyes. "It should."

Jaskier casts his eye over the grubby tavern room, its rickety table still sporting the remains of his afternoon tea, the hearth with its fire that needs another log. Anything other than Yennefer. "If I'd been bothered every time someone was disappointed in me, I'd never have time to do anything else."

He says it like a joke, but Jaskier's not laughing.

Yenn lets her arms drop to her sides and sits on the chair recently vacated by Jaskier. Should she say something? She should probably say something.

She opens her mouth, but her traitorous tongue wusses out and says: "I'm exhausted."

"Well, you are ninety-four, it's only to be expected... You look good for it though. Don't look a day over eighty-five." 

Yenn picks up a cushion and throws it at his head. Jaskier sits up to dodge it, but it curves in mid-air and swings back around to thwack him on the back of the head.

"Ow."

"I'm exhausted from doing actual work while you take tea with your ‘sister’. I’ve got news."

Jaskier's eyes are bright, momentary sadness and pillow attack forgotten. "Ooh! Tell!" He orders. She can sense his aura, the energy field that every living thing emanates, from across the room. Jaskier’s is bright and sprawling, and always becomes larger and more incandescent when he’s spent time with other people. Yennefer wants to reach out and gather some of it to herself, to taste it, but holds herself back. She briefly marvels at how Jaskier is energised by company; he’s the polar opposite of Geralt, whose aura shrinks into itself the longer he spends with other humans. 

Yenn’s aura is always exactly the same, no matter what.

She raises her eyebrow at him.

"Sorry. Please, Lady Yennefer of Vengerburg. Share with me the information you've gleaned, if you'd be so kind." He says this with a courtly bow that's somehow unencumbered by his position, as if he's used to bowing in bed. He probably is.

"I got a letter from my source in Nilfgaard.”

“What did they say?” Jaskier asks impatiently.

In answer, Yennefer pulls the letter from her bodice and sends it flying through the air with a flick of her wrist. Jaskier snatches it mid-flight and reads it. Yennefer already knows it by heart: 

Lady Yennefer,

I have it on good authority that you will find what you seek at either Rhys Rhun or Stygga Castle.

A friend

He finishes reading and looks up at her, grinning. “We’ve got him.”

“Almost,” Yennefer agrees. “We just need to find out which of the castles it is. It shouldn’t be too hard, just a few more days…”

"He's in Stygga Castle."

Yenn stares at him for a long moment. "How can you possibly know that?"

"While ‘lazing around drinking tea’, as you put it, I found out from Zelda that Rhys-Rhun Castle is abandoned. So, by process of elimination..." Jaskier is smug as he stretches out on the bed like a cat in a patch of sun.

Yenn narrows her eyes. "What did you have to trade for this information? If you've jeopardised this mission because of your soft spot for Zelda, Jaskier, I'll murder you no matter what Geralt says..."

"Oh, I didn’t have to tell her anything much. I just shared a rumour about a taxidermied unicorn..."

He doesn't even dodge the cushion she throws this time. It lands square in his face.

"Ow! Honestly Yenn, I didn’t tell her anything important. I filled her in on corrupt officials in Lettenhove instead. Just your standard blackmail fodder." His voice is muffled by the cushion he's left on his face. Then his tone changes. “Poor Ciri. She didn’t ask to be a princess, it’s not her fault. And now this rogue mage is hunting her just for some political advantage…”

“I don’t think he wants her because she’s the Lion Cub of Cintra,” Yennefer tells the purple pillow obstructing his features.

Jaskier lifts the cushion so one of his eyes can peek out of her. “Then why…?” Realisation dawns. Of course; he’s spent hours coaching her on how to better control her voice. “Oh. Her Power?”

Yenn nods. "Exactly. I don't know for sure, but I think he somehow knew about her Force. And he wanted it, which is why he sent Rience after her."

Jaskier's expression hardens into something Yenn rarely sees from him. It makes her fond and nervous, in equal parts.

"We'll kill him. We'll fucking kill him, Yenn, before he can get anywhere near her."

Fear seizes her chest, paralysing her for a moment. 

"I'll kill him, Jaskier. You’re going to stay well away. I'm serious. You have no idea what a mage like Vilgefortz is capable of."

Jaskier reclines again, nodding. "Oh, of course. I'll stay back, where I'm safe. I swear it."

Yennefer empties the teapot into his abandoned cup and drains it. "Why don't I believe you?"

"I don't know, Yennefer. Deep seated trust issues born from a difficult childhood and an adolescence spent in the famously backstabbing Aretuza?"

Yenn snorts. It's an indelicate habit she doesn't normally allow herself, lest it shatter the perfect image she projects. Jaskier lights up at the sound.

"So what's the plan?" He asks.

"We'll leave tomorrow, work it out on the way." She crosses to the bed and lifts the cushion from his head, meets his blue eyes. "You're not a disappointment, Jaskier."

He catches her hand. "You mean I never disappoint to amaze and astound? I know, it’s a gift..."

"No. I mean you're everything you need to be, and no less."

His eyes sparkle, and Yennefer doesn’t let herself wonder why. 

"Thank you, Yenn."

She lets him pull her down to the bed.

The trip to Stygga Castle is almost pleasant. They’ve set off in plenty of time before the snows, and the Southern countryside is truly breathtaking. Jaskier’s almost glad that Yenn refuses to use portals on their journey, claiming they’re too easy to trace. The landscape is inspiring; he’s written pages of poetry in his notebook about the stunning mountains, ravines and rivers that they’ve traversed on their mission.  
An unexpected bonus is that Yennefer is a much more pleasant travel companion than he’d anticipated. Don’t get him wrong; he loves travelling with Geralt, of course he does. Yennefer’s not better. She’s just… different. She can often be persuaded to provide constructive criticism on his work, which Geralt could rarely be convinced to do, though her words sometimes lean too much towards the criticism than the construction for his taste.  
Travelling with a Sorceress is undoubtedly easier than travelling with a Witcher. Where towns and villages are at best mistrustful and at worst antagonistic towards Geralt, Sorceresses are welcome anywhere. Even the smallest hamlets have generally learned that being rude to a mage is not the most sensible course of action. This healthy dose of fear generally results in good lodgings and better access to hot baths than Jaskier is used to, and he’s certainly not about to complain.  
Sorceresses also tend not to get accosted on the roads, even when they’re swarmed with both refugees fleeing the recent fighting and bands of soldiers dragging carts full of recently “acquired” (Jaskier internally translates this to “looted”) goods on their way home.  
As they near Stygga Castle, the towns and villages along the way begin to thin out and then stop altogether, forcing them to revert to camping. For the first time for Jaskier, this barely registers as an inconvenience – he shares Yennefer’s tent, which comes complete with a sofa and four-poster bed, and is probably more comfortable than most of the inns they’ve stayed in over the last few weeks of travel.  
It’s wonderful, except that Geralt’s absence is a constant ache at the back of Jaskier’s mind. By the time he’d made it to Lettenhove after escaping Rience and making his plan with Yenn, he’d thought that he’d finally, finally reached a point where he wouldn’t miss Geralt. But it turned out that the loss had only dimmed to an itch that he could ignore well enough to pretend it wasn’t there. Seeing Geralt again had been like taking the first bite of food when you hadn’t realised how hungry you are, only to discover that you’re ravenous.  
It’s especially difficult to be without Geralt so immediately after their relationship had evolved into something new, something big and good that included Yennefer too. He loves Yenn, and he loves Geralt. They are magnificent individually. But it when they're apart, it feels like there's a piece missing. Jaskier is eager to be whole again.  
Jaskier can't help but gasp when they round a bend in the road and finally spot Stygga Castle. The earth around it is yellow-brown and scorched, littered with the wrecks of tens of ships as if they were dropped there by a child having a tantrum. A very large child... Look, he's too on edge to come up with good similes, alright?

“What the… why is there a ship graveyard here? The sea’s miles away…”

He looks over at Yenn to see her lips pursed, violet eyes fixed on a specific ship several hundred metres away. Jaskier squints at it. It’s clearly been here at least a decade, the wood sunbleached and rotting. He stares harder, and makes out the ship’s colours on the few areas where the paint has withstood the ravages of time: the colours of Cintra and Skellige announce the ship’s allegiance to the uncaring desert.

“Is that…”

“The ship that is supposed to have sunk in the Sedna Abyss, taking Pavetta and Duny with it? Yes.” Yennefer answers. Her voice is tight with anger.

Jaskier stares at the boat a moment longer, then shakes his head. That’s a problem for another day. They haven’t come all this way for a mysterious disappearing reappearing boat, but to storm a castle. He turns his attention to the building in question.

Jaskier realises as he stares at Stygga Castle that he's never understood the words "impenetrable fortress" until now. The words slide into sharp relief as he gapes. The Castle - hmm, maybe he'll call it a Citadel in his ballad, that sounds more romantic - stands on the only high ground for miles, reflected in a still lake at the base of the cliff, seeming to grow from the rock face itself. It has few windows, and all of those are arrow slits. It’s made up of several levels rising upwards towards the sky, all lined with battlements very handily placed to rain down arrows or worse on any attacker who dares come near.

But who would be foolish enough to attack this fortress? Jaskier is proud that he knows little too nothing about warfare, bar that the pointy end of your weapon should ideally go into a soft part of your enemy. This knowledge has stood him in good stead several times. But anyone attacking this place would face a three hundred metre dash up either sheer cliff or the handily defensible single path to the door, all the while having to ignore the whistle of arrows or magical missiles falling around them. And that's before you even get to the outer door, fortified by draw bridge and portcullis. Jaskier can't see any further, but he can't imagine the inside is any more welcoming.

“It’s been breached before,” Yennefer tells him. She probably read his thoughts, he realises in annoyance.

“It’s not my fault you think so loudly that I can’t help but overhear.” She tells him. He rolls his eyes. 

"The School of the Cat must have been a paranoid bunch," Jaskier observes.

"Much good it did them." She snaps back.

He knew the castle had been won by the royal army who had then slaughtered every Witcher in the building. But that had only been accomplished over a three-day siege by generals who didn't care how many of their men died, as long as the castle fell. One mage and her bard, both of whom very much do care how many of their company perish on this mission, may not have the same amount of success

Yennefer turns to him and crushes the fear in her eyes just a moment too late to stop Jaskier from spotting it. "You remember the plan?"

"Of course." She's wearing leather trousers and a matching jacket, black with white detailing on the sleeves. It's practical for travelling, but even after several days sleeping out on the road she's still perfection. Jaskier used to assume her appearance was effortless, when he thought of it at all. Now he knows better; he's seen her wake in the morning with bags under her eyes and her hair in disarray, reaching immediately for combs and potions, using spells to adjust her appearance until it's flawless. Until it's another weapon in her arsenal, to be used to get what she wants and to protect herself and those she loves. He adores her.

Jaskier reaches out and puts his hand over hers where she's gripping her reins white-knuckled. "I remember, Yenn. This will work. It'll be fine."

She nods. Her habitual iron-clad conviction returns to her eyes. 

"And you'll stay safe?" She asks.

He grins at her. "When do I ever not?"

Vilgefortz is thinking about Rience, which is something he tries not to do if he can help it. The man is useful on occasion, Vilgefortz will give him that, but that doesn't change the fact that he's an insufferable little shit.

The shit is usually prompt with his reports, however, though his last one is overdue by several weeks. Vilgefortz has assumed that this was because Rience has nothing to report, or had bad news, and was putting off speaking to Vilgefortz until he had something good that might deflect his master’s wrath. But by now the useless Ban Ard reject should have been in contact to request further help if nothing else.

Vilgefortz drums his fingers on the arm of his chair. Maybe he should reach out...

His thoughts are interrupted when a clearly terrified guard sidles into the room, somehow managing to even open a door apologetically. The soldier hurries forward, passing pillars and banners hung on the wall art a quick pace. The hall is cavernous, and it takes her a long time to reach Vilgefortz's throne and take a knee.

The terror is plain on her freckled face as she speaks. "Lord Vilgefortz, someone has arrived..."

Good. It's been a boring day so far, and he’s been wishing he brought someone to play with. Vilgefortz reclines further in his chair. "Who?"

"Yennefer of Vengerburg." A clear, sharp voice declares from the door. She crosses the distance with all the elegance and speed that the guard lacked, the diamonds on her necklace sparkling as she moves through the sunbeams streaming through the illusory windows. She reaches him in moments.

Vilgefortz rises from his seat, spreading his arms and Castint covertly. He’s spent years adapting the sign Yrden, fine-tuning it until he can create a forcefield that’s it indetectable to anyone but himself, even those trapped within it. He stretches the barrier in a dome around Yennefer, keeping her in place without her knowledge. He wouldn’t want his guest to leave too quickly, after all.

“Yennefer! I haven’t seen you since the Battle, I’m so relieved to see you’re recovered!”

Yennefer strides forwards, stopping just short of the spell’s boundaries, and smiles thinly. “It’s good to see you, Vilgefortz.”

The double meaning in her words wrings a laugh from him. “Your eyes are beautiful as ever, Yennefer. I’m glad there was no lasting harm done.”

She smiles again without humour, quick as a snake strike. “Not all lasting harm is visible, Vilgefortz. Triss looks the same as she ever did, but anyone who knew her before can tell you she’s changed. And I know that you were affected too. We all were. Just because we’re still pretty doesn’t mean we’re okay.” 

The forcefield around Yenn quavers slightly, causing her appearance to undulate. Her unassuming look seems to morph to something more knowing, reasserting itself when the shield resettles.

Something isn’t right about this, Vilgefortz can sense. It doesn’t really matter, of course – he can easily handle Yennefer, if it comes to it. Besides, it really has been a tedious morning. He can spar with her for a while, if that’s what she wants. 

Vilgefortz forces another laugh. “Well, some of us are prettier than others! I’m under no illusions – I know you’d outshine me anywhere! Don’t tell Francesca, but I’ve always thought that you were the most beautiful sorceress in the world.”

Yenn smirks at that, but says nothing. Vilgefortz is forced to speak again to hide his own discomfort, which is ridiculous. He has her contained, and she’s no match for him. But he cannot kill the discomfort in his belly.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of the visit? And, if I may ask, how did you know to find me here? This is my little hideaway, you see, and I wasn’t aware anyone else knew about it…”

Yennefer raises a hand to smooth back her hair, fingers not quite brushing the magical field that has her trapped. “I’m here to kill you,” she tells him conversationally.

Vilgefortz gives her polite, close-lipped smile. When Yenenfer doesn’t acknowledge the joke, revealing her seriousness, he coughs out a laugh.

“And how are you going to do that?” He gestures around the room, his fortress’s inner sanctum. “This castle is completely secure. You’re on your own. And, if you hadn’t realised…”

“Excuse me, milord,” a voice interrupts.

Vilgefortz spins on his heel to glare at the soldier who interrupted him. “What?” He asks through gritted teeth. 

The soldier pales, but manages to stutter her response. “We’ve caught someone sneaking through the corridors on the lower level.”

Vilgefortz turns to Yennefer, his unease forgotten. “Reinforcements?” He asks, delightedly.

“No. I don’t need reinforcements to handle the likes of you,” Yennefer responds.

Vilgefortz ignores that, addresses the guard instead. “Who is it?” 

“Please, milord, he won’t give his name. He carries a lute, and wears bright clothes. Seems like a bard to me.”

Vilgefortz grins at Yennefer, whose expression hasn’t changed. Fool. Doesn’t she realise that keeping her face impassive is a giveaway in itself? “The famous Jaskier, if I’m not mistaken! Your Witcher’s pet bard, isn’t he? Whyever did you bring him?”

Yennefer rolls her eyes with her whole body. “I didn’t. He’s started following me around for some reason, I can’t get rid of him. Geralt managed to shake him off back at the mountain hunt. I’ll have to ask him what he said, see if I can replicate the results.”

“Is that so?” Vilgefortz asks, twisting one of his rings around his finger while observing her intently. “Then you won’t mind if I have him brought here and killed for trespassing in my castle?”

Yennefer gives the first smile he’s seen from her that actually looks genuine. “No no, please do. I can’t stand him any more than the plague. You’d be doing me a favour.”

Vilgefortz glares at her, but she meets his gaze steadily and does not blink. She must be bluffing. She has to be.

“Bring the bard here,” he tells the soldier without looking away from Yennefer. “I’ll dispatch him myself.” She has calluses on her fingers, he notices. Since when does any self-respecting sorceress allow herself to sport a flaw like that?

The guard bows and scurries away to the door. When they’re alone again, Vilgefortz says “I’m sorry. Where were we before we got so rudely interrupted?”

Yennefer inspects her nails. “You were telling me how secure your castle is… then your guard interrupted to tell you that your stronghold was breached by a bard armed with nothing but a lute.”

Vilgefortz bristles before her can catch himself. He quickly regains his composure – this girl will not get a rise out of him. In retribution for her poor manners, he shrinks the forcefield surrounding her without letting any of the air molecules inside it escape. The pressure inside it, he knows from practice on others who have displeased him, becomes first uncomfortable and then painful. He stops it just this side of agonising, watching eagerly for her response.

Yennefer does an admirable job of remaining impassive, only the hard set of her mouth betraying her discomfort. Vilgefortz is impressed; she’s taking more than he’d expected her to manage. She might keep him entertained for weeks, the kind of toy just meant to be broken.

“Thank you, my dear. As I was saying, the castle is secure and you don’t seem to have realised that you’re trapped in a forcefield that you have no way of escaping. What’s more, that forcefield will maintain the exact size that I want it to. I can make it even smaller than you, if I like. I promise you that it’s most uncomfortable. Would you like to see?”

For a moment, Yennefer doesn’t respond except for a slow blink. Then, without breaking eye contact, she raises one arm with the back of her hand aimed towards him. All her fingers and thumb are folded into the palm except for her index and middle fingers, which stand proud in the famous dwarfish rude gesture.

Vilgefortz tisks. “I’ll have to teach you some manners. But first, your bard. Let’s see if you’re really so relaxed about his fate when it’s being played out in front of you… ah, here he is now!” 

Jaskier has a bloodied nose that’s dripped down and ruined his turquoise doublet. He’s being dragged along by two guards holding one arm each, sagging between them like a broken marionette. Vilgefortz is distracted from this sight by a cackle from Yennefer.

Jaskier’s head snaps up at the sound of Yennefer’s laughter. “Yenn?”

“You look like shit, Julian,” she tells him. There’s a strain in her voice where she’s having to hide the pain from Vilgefortz’s forcefield as it crushes her lungs, but the glee on her face is genuine.

Jaskier’s face, by contrast, crumples. “Yenn… you didn’t come back, so I came after you…”

Yenn snorts. “I told you, you’re no use here. What could you possibly do? You have no Power of your own. You’re just a hindrance. As always.”

Vilgefortz chuckles at the betrayal on Jaskier’s face. Seeing him hurt by someone he cares about is almost as good as hurting the bard himself. 

Almost.

Vilgefortz steps closer to Jaskier, taking in his lithe form and open, guileless face.

“So you’re the one Rience was controlling. Or perhaps he wasn’t, seeing as I haven’t heard from the useless oaf in weeks, and yet here you stand. How did you manage that?”

Jaskier’s mouth slips into a smile easily, like that’s its natural state. “It wasn’t hard. If you’re going to take me on, you’ll have to send someone better than Rience to do the work. You’re obviously not capable of it yourself.”

“Hmm,” Vilgefortz hums, keeping his face neutral as he conjures his staff and jabs its end into Jaskier’s stomach. The blow was harder than he intended; he feels the vibrations of the impact as they travel up the staff’s steel core. The bard tries to double over, but the guards on either side hold him up as he wheezes and spits blood. His hair seems darker as he bends, almost as dark as Yennefer’s. Vilgefortz is aiming another hit when – 

“Don’t try and take credit, Jaskier. The bard couldn’t handle Rience, Vilgefortz. I took care of that little rodent problem, not him. But please, hit him again. This is more entertainment than I’d expected. Definitely the most fun I’ve had since I killed your little minion.”

Vilgefortz lets his staff dematerialise in his hands and turns back to Yennefer. “You’re the one who killed Rience?”

“Yes,” she tells him, smug and unrepentant.

Vilgefortz strides up to the edge of the forcefield to glare down at her. “How dare you…”

“What?” Despite what he did to the bard, what she’s seen him do to others, and the fact that he currently holds her prisoner, she stares at him with nothing but contempt. She tucks her hands into her pockets, nonchalant. “He wasn’t part of the Brotherhood. He threatened what was mine. Why shouldn’t I have killed him?”

“You should know better to than to antagonise me, Yennefer,” Vilgefortz warns.

“Should I? You hide in your fortress and send out someone as useless as Rience to do your dirty work. You capture a bard purely by luck and beat a bound man, too scared to look him in the eye. And the moment you saw me, you trapped me in a magical forcefield because you’re too fucking scared to face me in a fair fight. So why shouldn’t I antagonise someone like that?”

“You’ll soon learn to be more polite, staying in this castle,” he promises her. Cold rage has seized his insides, making him both stronger and more brittle. He’ll wreak vengeance on her, slow and thorough.

She laughs in his face. “Why don’t you come in here and prove it? Or are you a fucking coward after all?”

Yennefer holds his gaze in a clear challenge to him. He takes half a step forwards.

“Er, I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Vilgefortz…” Jaskier manages to say between gasps as he fights to get his breath back. “I’ve seen that expression on her before. It doesn’t signify anything good, believe me.”

Vilgefortz shoots him a withering glare over his shoulder and steps into the field.

Yennefer grins at him, her eyes flashing blue. Her hands dart out from her pockets, sending a cloud of something silver-grey and glittering directly into his eyes and mouth. Vilgefortz throws his hands up to shield his face too late, managing only to rub the particles deeper into the soft flesh of his eyes when he tries to remove it.

He falls to his knees, choking and blinded by the dust, retching when he realises what the substance is: Dimeritium. He senses his forcefield dispersing around him and freeing Yennefer as the metal impedes his magic. On the edge of his perception, he becomes aware of two other, lesser spells being allowed to end. 

He manages to open his eyes and vaguely sees the forms of the guards on either side of Jaskier – who’s shorter, now, with longer hair – drop to the floor, their agonised screams cut short. The figure in the bright-coloured doublet strides over to him and pulls his head back by the hair.

“Dimeritium,” confirms a familiar voice. “I learned a thing or two from Fringilla on Sodden Hill. Seeing as that whole battle was your doing, I suppose I have you to thank for this.”

The form that had been Yennefer still stands next to him. It kicks Vilgefortz’s supporting leg from under him, sending him sprawling on the floor. Vilgefortz blinks to force his eyes to clear and chokes all over again; standing in the floor-length black-and-white evening gown where Yennefer had been is Jaskier, blue eyes cold as he glares down at Vilgefortz’s prone form. Yennefer stands next to him, in a turquoise doublet with bloodstains all down the front. 

As Vilgefortz watches, Jaskier holds out his hand. Yennefer wordlessly takes off the lute strapped to her back and hands it over to the bard, who cradles it lovingly for a moment before slinging it over his own shoulder.

“How…” Vilgefortz manages to croak. He reaches for his magic, and almost cries out at the swirling grey void he feels instead. The Dimeritium makes it impossible to access Chaos, leaving him without an anchor in the universe.

“Oh, just two little illusions,” Yennefer tells him as she kneels beside him and closes a manacle over his wrist. The click as the clasp snaps shut is the loudest sound Vilgefortz has ever heard. He wants to scream at the touch of the Dimeritium against his skin; this want is doubled when Yennefer closes another over his other wrist, and finally tripled as she slides a collar of it around his neck. “We switched places, and appearances. I knew you’d be too much of a coward to give me a fair chance, but you wouldn’t bother restraining a bard too much.” She sits back on her heels.

“You know, Vilgefortz, I had a good look around your basements while I was waiting for your guards to find me. I had to go looking for them in the end, I didn’t want to keep Jaskier waiting for too long. But first I found your lab.”

“Lab?” Jaskier asks, glancing anxiously at Yennefer. She shakes her head slightly at him, not taking her eyes from Vilgefortz.

Vilgefortz forces himself to swallow. “You don’t understand. My research is important – I’m going to fulfil the prophecy, bring Lara Dorren’s line to fruition and unite the Continent…”

Yennefer clicks her fingers and Vilgefortz’s tongue instantly loses the ability to move. 

“I know what you’re doing, Vilgefortz. And believe me, there’s a special place in the hells for you. I’m going to make sure you get there quickly.”

Yennefer makes a complicated gesture in the air, and a chair appears out of thin air. It’s familiar, of course. Vilgefortz has only just finished its construction. He’s crafted it well out of reinforced metal and with an inbuilt resistance to magic in anticipation of its intended occupant’s exceptional Power. 

Jaskier’s face goes hard when he sees it; the way it’s designed with a seat shaped like a Y, and the restraints to keep the arms and legs in place. Yennefer is about to magically manipulate Vilgefortz into it, but Jaskier waves her away grimly and lifts the prone mage bodily into the chair, strapping Vilgefortz in securely enough to restrict the bloodflow to every limb. Vilgefortz fights, but finds that the bard’s grip is immovable as iron. He tries to wail, but his dead tongue will not let him.

When every strap is secure, including the ones at the neck and forehead, Jaskier steps back and folds his arms. “What’re we going to do with him, Yenn?” The bard asks.

Yennefer tosses her hair and lets Vilgefortz wait for a long moment. Her eyes go to the restraints, knowing that Vilgefortz can imagine only too well the things that can be done to someone in a chair such as this; of course he can. He’s done most of them. Then she grins. “We’re going to get the Dimeritium out of his system. Then we’re going to untie him.”

Jaskier’s mouth drops open. “I’m sorry, what!? He was going to use that… that… chair on Ciri, and you want to let him go!?”

“I didn’t say let him go, Jaskier. I said we’re going to untie him. And then he and I are going to settle this.”

“I don’t think…”

“I know,” she interrupts. Jaskier looks riotous, and she softens. “We’re going to settle this, between mages, with magic. You’re going to get to safety first.”

“What the fuck, Yennefer!?”

“Don’t try and talk me out of it, Jaskier,” Yennefer begins.

Jaskier closes the distance between them and rests his hands on her shoulders. “I’m not going to, Yenn. I know that you’re more than a match for him. But if you think I’m passing up the opportunity to see you fucking decimate this man, then you’re very much mistaken.”

Yennefer grins at him, and then fists a hand in the hair on the back of his head and kisses Jaskier fiercely. Vilgefortz gags again, and this time it’s nothing to do with the Dimeritium.

“Not the worst review I’ve ever received,” Jaskier says absently as Vilgefortz continues to mimic vomiting. “Does this mean you’re ready? Dimeritium powder all gone?”

“Best to be sure,” Yenn tells him. She summons a bucket of water out of the air, and throws its freezing contents into Vilgefortz’s face. The ice-cold water fills his eyes, nose, and mouth. The relief of the final grains of Dimeritium being washed from his orifices is more than worth the discomfort of the act. Besides, he’ll make her and the bard pay later.

“Ready?” Yennefer asks. Vilgefortz tries to answer, but his tongue is still a stubborn weight in his mouth. Yennefer of Vengerberg waves a hand, and the weight is lifted. Vilgefortz tries again.

“I’ll make you sorry you bitch,” he spits.

“Good enough,” Yennefer tells him. Jaskier removes the manacles and collar, then unwinds the bindings. He steps away sharply as Vilgefortz jumps up, summoning his staff to himself in an instant.

Yennefer raises her hands in readiness, almost lazily. She’s fucking taunting him.

Vilgefortz snarls and hurls a fireball at her, which she counters so thoroughly that he doesn’t even see its flames flicker out – it’s just there one moment, then not. He grips the staff more firmly, and fires three more in a quick volley.

Yennefer smiles prettily, and the volley is gone. She tuts at him. “Is that the best you can do?”

Vilgefortz roars and launches himself at her. She steps smartly away at the last minute, and he crashes into the pillar that had been behind her.

Jaskier cheers loudly. Vilgefortz aims a paralysing spell in his direction, which Yennefer deflects before it gets within ten feet of the bard. That’s annoying, but it’s the first time her expression has flickered towards something like worry and that’s… useful.

“You care about this idiot more than your own kind,” Vilgefortz tells her. “You’re a traitor towards sorcerers everywhere.”

Yennefer snorts at him. “This, coming from the man who sacrificed thirteen of our own to save Nilfgaard from military defeat.”

She starts circling him. He turns to keep her in view, then realises from the corner of his eye that the bard is making circuits of the room too, in such a way that he can’t keep both of them in his field of vision at the same time. He curses and throws another vapourising spell at Jaskier. The bard jumps out of the way without Yennefer having to lift a finger.

Maybe it’s time for a different tactic. She could be useful, after all. 

“You should be working with me, Yennefer. The heir of Lara will be powerful enough to unite everyone. There’ll never be a war again. You could help me bring that into reality.” On the last word, in case reason doesn’t work, he unleashes a torrent of Chaos at her. It should strip her away flesh and bone, flay her to the marrow. Yennefer grunts and pushes the attack aside, where it carves a hole in the wall that lets the view of the sadly waving sails of the wrecked ships into the room.

Vilgefortz is too busy waiting for her to retaliate to pay attention to Jaskier. It’s not until he hears the high-pitched whistle of the Orion that he knows what’s about to happen, but by then it’s too late. The throwing star digs deep and makes itself at home in the flesh of his thigh, a rich stain of blood soaking his trouser leg in moments. Vilgefortz yells wordlessly, pulls it out and hurls the bloody star aside.

Yennefer bares her teeth at him. “The heir of Lara Dorren has already been born. She’s got more power at eleven than you’ve ever had in your life. And you’ll never touch her.” From the corner of his eye, Vilgefortz sees Jaskier nodding in agreement. 

Vilgefortz feels his mouth twist in annoyance. He should have known she wouldn’t understand. No one ever does. It’s endlessly frustrating to be the only one who understands the sacrifices required for Progress, the only one willing to do what it takes for the good of the world. Well… almost the only one. But the Emperor’s not here.

Vilgefortz is used to obstacles, though. He knows how to handle them. The weight of his staff is reassuring in his hands. Yennefer may yet be useful to him, to the future; if he can subdue her, find a way to control her unhelpful outbursts, she’d make an excellent tool. He could make her a golem, perhaps, with the right spell. He could send her out to hunt down the Witcher. Yes; that would be satisfying.

Vilgefortz is preparing to launch another assault when he spies Jaskier in his peripheral vision. Lightning-quick, the bard throws another star, but Vilgefortz is ready and dodges. Yennefer jerks her head and the star wheels around in midair like a boomerang, arcing back around and punching into Vilgefortz’s shoulder blade. He screams in frustration and reaches behind him, but it’s lodged in a place he can’t reach. He spits.

“You won’t touch Ciri,” she repeats.

“How sweet. I knew you wanted a child, Yennefer, but this protective mother role really doesn’t suit you. I’ll admit that sometimes there are casualties in experimentation, that the people involved in making history aren’t always happy with the role that Destiny has them marked down for. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t our responsibility to ensure progress is made.”

He aims a blast at the ceiling above her, causing plaster and stone to rain down and dust her black hair white. Yennefer opens a portal at her feet and drops through the floor, closing it behind her just before a sizeable boulder can follow her through. Vilgefortz hears her materialise behind him, and swings around to face her again.

“Progress? Is that what you call what happened down there in your lab? I felt it, Vilgefortz. The echoes of what you’d done there. The pain that you caused. It lingers there, it screamed to me as soon as I entered the castle. Those atrocities you committed weren’t progress.”

Vilgefortz swings at her with his staff. She dodges easily, retaliates with a swipe of her hand that slices the staff in half.

“They were necessary. Couldn’t try it for the first time on the mother of Lara’s Heir. I had to perfect the process.” He throws one half of his staff at her, summoning it back to his hand when he misses and it buries itself in the carpet three feet beside her. 

“You didn't have to, Vilgefortz. You wanted to. There's a difference."

He summons his power and throws all the destructive force he can at her. Again, she deflects it away. Jaskier has to jump aside when it takes out the wall beside him - but not enough of the wall, Vilgefortz realises with horror. He's becoming drained; a spell like that should have collapsed the room, but he can't muster enough for more than a few feet of damage.

Yennefer notices his discomfort and smiles sympathetically. "I told you at the Hill to reserve your Chaos, Vilgefortz. You're not great at listening, are you? Let’s see if you can listen now. I didn’t put you in that chair to restrain you. I did it because I needed to have a recent physical link between it and you."

She stops circling and approaches him directly, her step barely faltering as she waves aside another of his attacks with barely any effort. She tilts her head to look at him consideringly, frowning slightly in concentration, and he's brought to his knees by an agony he cannot name.

“I failed the Lightning Trial at Aretuza. Did you know that, Vilgefortz?"

“I’m not surprised,” he manages to force out through gritted teeth.

“Rude,” Jaskier says. Yennefer smiles, then blinks at Vilgefortz. The feeling that forced him to kneel is amped up to eleven. He is helpless to do anything but scream.

“Yes, I failed. Because I didn’t trap the lightning in the bottle. I held it within myself. And then I threw it at Archmage DeVries in a fit of temper.”

The look of adoration Jaskier gives her is almost as intolerable as the pain she’s somehow inflicting on him. “Why are you telling me this?” he asks to break the moment between them as much as to find out the answer.

“I told you. The pain of those women you took into your lab. It hangs around. It called to me when I got here. So I took it, stored it in myself, kept it safe for you. It’s yours after all. You created it. And now, thanks to your link to the chair, you can claim it.”

The sensation slams into him with a force he hadn’t thought possible. It feels like his muscles are being rent from his tendons, his bones scorched from the inside. He’s being flayed alive and burned at the stake and he cannot bear it because it’s unbearable and still it keeps coming…

All he can see is Yennefer’s face intent above him, pouring layer after layer of agony into his unprepared soul. He tries to move but finds he cannot. He tries to pass out, but cannot. All he can do is let out a whine that does nothing to express what he’s feeling.

After a few moments that last an eternity, more than long enough for him to feel his mind unravel around itself and then forget what it was like to be coherent in the first place, there’s a sound.

“Yenn, I think he’s had enough…” a musical voice says. Vilgefortz thinks he’s heard it before, but cannot remember where from.

“You didn’t see the lab, Jaskier,” another voice answers. Vilgefortz could place them if the screaming and scratching inside his mind was quiet for a moment, but the agony won’t abate…

“Every moment he’s alive, he’s polluting the entire Continent,” the one who must be called Jaskier counters.

“Hmm. You’re right,” the higher-pitched voice replies. The face with violet eyes leans closer. “It’s going to end now, Vilgefortz. You threw a lot of high-level magic at me during the fight, I was almost in danger of being impressed for a moment. But you’ve depleted yourself, you didn’t reserve your Chaos. You bled yourself dry. Let me top you up.”

Vilgefortz feels every piece of magic he’d willed into manifestation during the fight hit him all at once. It burns brighter, his body is white-hot and incandescent… and then he feels nothing at all.

“Good riddance,” Jaskier tells the charred space that Vilgefortz had been occupying until a moment ago. He turns to Yenn, staring at her in wonder and not a little arousal. “You’re magnificent.”

She grins. “I know.” Then she staggers. Jaskier catches her before she has a chance to even consider collapsing. “Gods, I’m tired.”

“I’ve got you, Yenn,” he murmurs into her hair. She buries her face in the sleeve of her own dress that Jaskier’s still wearing. “You’re alright.”

She doesn’t know how long he holds her, but it must be a long time. Long enough for her to recover some of her Power, at any rate. She could probably stand now, she thinks, but Jaskier’s hands are tracing idle patterns on her back and he’s still making soothing noises into her hair and she doesn’t particularly feel like supporting her own weight at the moment.

Eventually, she becomes aware of an absence that’s nothing to do with her depleted Chaos. It grows steadily in her mind until she cannot ignore it any more. With a sigh, she forces herself upright.

“Alright, love?” Jaskier asks.

“I want to go home.” She tells him.

His brow creases. “Do you mean Lettenhove? I know we lived there recently but I didn’t think we’d officially set it as our base? I have no objection to an official residence, mind you, but if we’re going to have one I’d rather it wasn’t Lettenhove if that’s alright with you…”

She’s too tired for this. She attempts to clear the fog in her mind, tries again.

“I want to go where we’ll all be together,” she manages.

Jaskier’s face softens as he instantly understands.

“Alright, love. We’ll pack up the horses and set off as soon as you’re strong enough.”

She shakes her head. “That’ll take too long. I’ll portal us.”

Jaskier strokes her hair back from her face. She flinches from the touch for a moment, over sensitive from the fight and the energy she’d had to hold within herself for so long. But then just as quickly she leans into his touch, lets him soothe her from the state she’d been forced to occupy.

“Can you do that?” He asks gently. “I mean, I know you can. But are you strong enough right now?”

Yenn nods. “I just need some time to recharge. We have to portal, Jaskier. I need to get away from here.” She’s not lying. The urge to get away from this place, from what Vilgefortz has done here, is beyond want; she must either leave or go mad.

“Take it from me,” he tells her softly.

She frowns. “What?”

“Whatever you need. Energy, Chaos, whatever. The Countess de Lettenhove, my mother, always told me I was Chaos incarnate. I’m sure I’ve got plenty to spare.”

“Jaskier.” Now that he’s said it, she can feel him again. She lets her senses spiral out around her, sample his reserves. Jaskier tastes of midsummer afternoons and wine-fuelled reunions between friends and Belleteyn bonfires and the colour yellow. She snaps the tendrils of her influence back to herself with a jerk, fearful of draining him. “You don’t know what you’re suggesting. I could take too much. You could get hurt.”

Jaskier waves a hand dismissively. “If you were going to hurt me, Yennefer of Vengerberg, I know better than to think it would be anything other than intentional. C’mon. You said you needed it, and I believe you. Let me help.”

Yennefer steps away from him, fisting her hands by her sides. The memory of her first day at Aretuza forces its way to the front of her memory, Fringilla screaming and clutching her hand to herself as it became something unrecognisable. “No, Jaskier. You haven’t seen what happens when the balance is upset and someone gives too much of their Chaos.”

“You’re right, Yenn. I haven’t seen it. And I won’t ever see it, because you won’t take too much. You’ll take exactly what you need, and no more.” His gaze is open and trusting and fucking unbearable.

Yennefer can feel him willing himself towards her, his energy straining as close to her as someone who’s untrained in magic can manage. 

“Jaskier,” she warns. It’s a groan. She’s too weak to resist much longer, and if he doesn’t step back right now…

He cradles her cheek in a palm. “I trust you, Yenn.”

Yennefer sighs. The temptation’s too great, and she’s never been good at denying herself what she wants. 

She closes her eyes, and he gasps as he feels her latch onto his reserves. She lets it pour into her, has to force most of it to hold back to prevent it all flowing into her, such is Jaskier’s determination to share. Yellow’s never been a good colour on her, but she feels like she could take a shine to it when it’s the overwhelming colour of Jaskier’s aura.

She lets herself fill to the amount that’s required to create a portal to Kaer Morhen, and a little more besides – better safe than sorry. Then, with a force of will that almost depletes her again, she closes the connection between Jaskier and herself. Tentatively, she reaches out and runs a thumb along his cheekbone. He’s colder than normal, but not worryingly so. He’s a bit more grey than usual, his eyes lacking some of their usual shine, but he’s not dangerously drained. 

“Thank you,” she whispers. She presses her lips to his, hoping he can read her feelings in her touch. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” he tells her only slightly huskily. “Shall we get out of here?”

She takes him by the hand and leads him out of the hall, out of the castle that’s miraculously free of guards – she suspects they ran when the Hall started being torn apart by the magical battle – and to the stable where their horses have been abandoned. Jaskier takes the reins of Pegasus and the black mare that Yenn has refused to name, and stands patiently as she prepares to open the portal.

“Nicely done, you two,” a voice says from the next stall.

Jaskier’s mouth hangs open. Yennefer lets her own face fill with the blankness of rage.

“Zelda?!”

She smirks at them, loosening her breastplate and taking off her helmet. Yennefer realises too late that she was the guard that had led Jaskier, disguised as Yennefer, to Vilgefortz. “Told you I’d beat you to our renegade mage.”

Jaskier gapes, flailing his arms as he steps back in surprise. “You… I… he… what?!”

“You might have got here first, but I got him.” Yennefer tells her through gritted teeth.

Zelda blinks at her, all innocence. “Of course you did. I’m not so foolish as to take on a mage by myself. Why d’you think I gave Jaskier the information? It was taking you too long to get here by yourselves. I needed you to take him out of the game, for the good of everyone.”

“You used me?!” Jaskier exclaims. He is not, to Yennefer’s mind, using the correct tone of voice. Aghast might be right. Anger would work. But the stupid bard sounds fucking proud.

“Only a little,” she tells him sweetly.

Jaskier tugs on the scarlet ribbon in her hair. “Well, it’s only fair, I suppose.”

“Jaskier. We’re leaving.” Yennefer tells him. She’s standing perfectly straight, she knows, and not swaying at all. But only because she is expending a lot of energy and concentration ensuring that’s the case. She won’t be able to keep it up much longer, but Zelda cannot be allowed to see her like this.

“Any chance I can get you to drop me off in Oxenfurt?” Zelda asks.

Yennefer fixes her with a look, lets every bad thing she’s seen today bleed into her voice. “No.”

It must work. Zelda pales slightly, raises her hands in surrender. “Fair enough. I’ll walk. Thanks for the help, both. I’ll see you around.”

Dust actually rises and settles in her wake as she moves suspiciously quickly too the door. Jaskier watches her leave fondly, then turns back to Yenn. His face constricts into worry as he gazes at her.

“You’re sure you don’t need more? You can have more. I feel absolutely fine.”

She rolls her eyes at him. “I took more than enough already,” she tells him, and opens a portal immediately just to prove him wrong. She steps through it backwards, keeping her eyes on him until he’s lost to view in the swirl of magic.

She takes another step back to give Jaskier room to come though, and runs into something big and solid. Strange. She’d meant to open the portal in the wide training yard at Kaer Morhen; there shouldn’t be anything around. She must have miscalculated.

Yenn turns to find that the thing she’s bumped into is Geralt. He drops his sword, takes her shoulders in his calloused hands and stares down at her disbelievingly.

“Yenn!?” He husks. “You’re okay?” he searches her face intensely for a moment, then looks at the portal with equal fervour. He remains taut as a bowstring until he sees Jaskier step through it unharmed, at which point his shoulders visibly drop as the tension leaves his body.

“Jaskier,” Geralt breathes. Jaskier doesn’t have a chance to say anything before he’s pulled into a bone-crushing hug, Geralt squeezing each of them under an arm as if trying to suffocate them.

“Oof, it’s good to see you too, Geralt! But if you could just… my ribs, you know. I need them to – ow! – to breathe…” Jaskier laughs.

Geralt loosens his grip immediately, muttering an apology and rubbing misty eyes with the heel of his hand. He freezes mid-movement.

“What are you both wearing?” he asks after a long beat.

Yennefer looks down at herself and sees the bloodstained turquoise silk doublet and knee-high leather boots, then at Jaskier in her favourite dress in her signature monochrome colour scheme. They’d forgotten to change in all the confusion.

“It’s my new look, Geralt. Do you like it? I think I’ve seen someone else wear this, you know, but I think I pull it off better than they can…” Jaskier grins and gives a twirl, the skirt of his borrowed dress swirling out around him. 

Yenn rolls her eyes but then strikes a pose, showing the tailoring of the doublet at its best angle and discreetly emphasising her bicep, which is not small. “I got bored, fancied a change. What d’you think?”

Geralt’s eyes flit between the two of them, adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows hard. A blush emerges at his collar and quickly creeps up his neck before flushing his whole face.

Oh. Oh! 

This is going to be so much fun.

She catches hold of Jaskier, who’s just performed another pirouette with enough ease to convince Yennefer that this isn’t his first time in a dress. He comes willingly, booping her on the nose when she leans against his shoulder. “What do you think of our change of look, Geralt?” She asks innocently. Jaskier’s cackle is wicked next to her, so close she can feel it reverberate in her own chest.

Geralt gapes at them for another long moment, trapped in arousal that he’s unable to hide. Neither Yenn nor Jaskier is willing to break the silence and help him by providing an out.

He’s eventually saved by Ciri, who comes charging down the stairs and throws herself at them, hugging them with one arm each just as Geralt had. Yenn and Jaskier hug her back, complaining jokily and inhaling her scent. Yenn lets her mind search lightly in Ciri’s head; nothing obtrusive, just enough to know that she’s been happy and safe since Yennefer saw her last. She has.

Yenn fixes Geralt with a stare over the grey-blonde hair on the head that’s tucked itself under her chin.

“Don’t think you’ve got out of this, Geralt.”

“Yup,” Jaskier says from beside her. “To be continued.”

Geralt swallows hard, again, and picks up the sword he’d dropped on her arrival. “Fine. To be continued.”

**Author's Note:**

> Yennefer talks about Vilgefortz's lab and what happens there in very vague terms, nothing graphic or overt.


End file.
